Tseng's Death
by DarkestAngellic
Summary: They knew it could happen, but it doesn't stop Chaos from going on the warpath when he loses his Turk (follow up ending of sorts to "Workaholic"). WARNING: contains violence and death


_**Disclaimer: I own nothing from FFVII, not the settings, not the characters, not the names. Nothing. I own absolutely nothing. It is all the property of the wonderful Square Enix.**_

* * *

They had both known the dangers of being romantically involved with a Turk. Hell, Tseng had warned him of it numerous times. He had listened. He **knew**. That hadn't stopped him from falling for the Turk Director. He knew he would outlive Tseng, being a WEAPON of Gaia. He just. . . he hadn't expected to be alone again so soon. Not even three years together before a mission claimed Tseng's life. Which led to where Chaos was now, perched opposite the bar his killers were in, up on the roof with his wings spread out, framed by the moon's pale glow. He aimed to terrify. He would. The demon was out tonight and it would play without mercy. They would _pay_.

* * *

They stagger outside, alcohol rancid on their breaths. They don't notice him, so he fires a shot from Death Penalty at the tallest's feet. He jumps, startled, topples over on drunken legs. They yell and curse and slur their words as three pairs of bleary eyes look up to the source of that shot. The glassy expressions freeze for a moment, eyes widen, mouths drop open. They scream and they scramble, tripping over their own feet and each other in their desperate bids to flee from him, and over the noise floats demonic laughter. They shiver, they blink, they turn. _He is gone_.

* * *

The first one he catches weaving through the park to get home. He sinks fangs into the maggot's neck and yanks his head back savagely. Flesh rips and blood spurts and the scream cuts off into a gurgle as clumsy hands reach up to try and stop the blood-loss. To no avail. Chaos has ripped trough the jugular and he's pierced three other veins. The man dies quickly enough and he hauls the body up onto his shoulder. Two left.

The second one is already in his own home when Chaos kicks the door in, dark laughter spilling from grinning lips as he prowls to his cowering prey, holed up in the basement with a shotgun. He shoots the moment he sights Chaos, but the demon's enhanced speed and the alcohol working against the man mean Chaos is untouched. He blurs to the male's side and snaps the bones in both forearms with a single twist of both his wrists. His grin widens at the screams and he snaps the upper arms, dislocates the shoulders, shatters the collarbone. He works slowly, calmly, dealing pain and approaching death with a devil's smile and an evil glare, face cold and stony. When the worm passes out from the pain he jerks the head back hard enough to snap the neck clean in two. Again, he hauls the body up onto his shoulder.

He travels by flying and dumps his prize alongside the first body and stalks off to find the third.

He's drinking in another bar when Chaos finds him. Fingers like iron clamp down on his neck and drag him outside into the alley, away from the streetlights. He whimpers in the dark while Chaos snarls at him, hisses, growls, bites his neck. But he doesn't kill that way. No, he just hurts. This one has claws sink through flesh to fasten on intestines. Chaos pulls back and the guts come out, hang outside the body as it contorts in pain. He stabs his claws from the back, rupturing kidneys. He slices into the bladder and waits for the poison that is the man's own urine to spread through his system, poison him, kill him. He dies from blood loss first. Pity. Again he picks up the body and again he transports it.

* * *

The following morning he stands in front of Rufus Shinra and his remaining Turks, three body bags at his feet. Blood streaks across his face and dirt mars his clothing. The four shrink away from him, instincts shouting loud and clear that he's inhuman, dangerous, shouldn't be trusted. He leaves them with the bodies of Tseng's killers and retreats to the very outskirts of human society. He never speaks again, never tries to befriend another mortal, mourning in silence for the one he lost. Humans only ever approach him when there is no alternative, when his aid is needed. He prefers it that way. He enjoys the silence.

* * *

**_A/N: It should be noted that this story is NOT related in any way to the main theme I have (of Chaos/Sephiroth), and is the likely end result to the "Workaholic" fic I have written, which is the only other Chaos/Tseng story I've attempted._**


End file.
